Chapter 13

If someone asked Hyukjae how he managed to bring himself and Donghae home after the exhaustion of everything, he would not be sure what to tell them. He could not remember how much time passed before he got up. He could not remember walking back, could not remember the cool air breezing passed him, nor the break of dawn. The only solid and prominent thing was the warmth emitting from Donghae’s body during each passing moment. Donghae had clung to him all the way, that he was sure. He had one arm wounded around Hyukjae’s while their hands interlocked. A couple times Donghae would giggle with his head rested against Hyukjae’s shoulder and the sound would slowly morph into sobs. Every time that happened, Hyukjae tightened his hold just a little.

He led the way, though he felt just as drunk as Donghae would have been feeling. He was stuck somewhere between terribly euphoric and abysmally perturbed. Here he was, finally knew how much he meant to his husband – a husband he had fantasized half his life, a man he had fallen for more than a decade ago – yet, this was not what he imagined it would be. Hyukjae thought it would be a simple, domestic life he would share with someone who gradually would love him just as much as he loved his significant other. He imagined a life of blissful discovery after discovery of how love could be showcased without the word being professed.

But, he was never even close to that, never even close to having a normal married life. He got himself in a world that was rotating on a non-existing axis. He fooled himself into thinking that he could plan his own life, that he could change whatever he wanted, that his fantasy was more than what it was; a childish, naïve dream.

Was it not better this way, though?

Donghae loved him, even before he knew who Hyukjae was, he loved him and Hyukjae did not need his husband to gradually fall for him. They were pretty much two peas in a pod. But, the difference was as stark as day and night.

To Hyukjae, L.D.H. was a world full of wonder, amazement, and adventure. L.D.H. was a presence he wished would come to his life and add a little more sunshine in an already bright sky. Lee Donghae, to Hyukjae just a year ago, was like a playground he hoped he could always go to play.

To Donghae, that young boy who crossed the road just to talk to him would have been a beacon, a straw he grasped on just to stay afloat. From what Hyukjae could gather, he was that hand in Midnight Blues, the hand that gave the faintest of light to Donghae’s whole world which was nothing more than black and grey. Lee Hyukjae, to Donghae just a month ago or for the next eternity, was the only rope he hung onto that made him chose not to end his life.

Hyukjae was not sure if he was ready to – if he could – carry the life of someone on his shoulders, not while he could not shake how still angry he was, how the betrayal was still at the forefront of his mind. Hyukjae might not be heartless, but he was not so forgivable and whatever his past was, what Donghae had done could not be easily pardoned.

Walking into the house – their house – with Donghae plastered by his side felt natural, belonging. Going up to supposedly their room was not, though. Thus, he sat himself and the half-awake Donghae on the white couch that seemed to be where many of the good things between them happened. With his husband heavy by his side, head on his shoulder and their fingers still interlaced, Hyukjae thought of that time he willingly kissed Donghae, not before he lost memory, and not when he was not in the right state of mind, but on their last monthsary. He remembered how the distance between them thinned, how light Donghae’s touched was as he caressed Hyukjae’s knuckles, rubbing away any discomfort and leaving assurance. He imagined his grasped on Donghae – his hand instinctively tightened in the present – and the pair of lips that fit so well with his. He recalled how just right it felt and he could barely hold back his moan, pulling Donghae closer against him until they were flushed against each other.

Hyukjae did not remember shutting his eyes, losing himself in the moment. But, when he opened them again, he had made a decision.

The first thing Donghae felt when he woke up was the feeling of his head being split into two halves. The second was whatever he was lying on was not his stack of mattresses in his studio albeit still familiar – and better. When his eye opened a slit, and the pure white of the comfy sofa almost too much for him to look at, he sat up abruptly because this sofa was too familiar.

“Good morning. Wait… Good afternoon, actually,” someone chirped.

Donghae looked to the source of voice – a voice filled with liveliness that seemed out of place and, again, painfully familiar – and he managed to caught a glimpse before the pulsing ache in his temple became too much and he had to shut his eyes. He winced, but before a whimper could come out, he clamped up his mouth and ducked his head because he could not risk looking at the man standing right in front of him, could not risk enraging the already – he was sure – livid man because Donghae had –

“Oh ,” he said under his breath before addressing Hyukjae, “Please don’t tell me I broke into your house,” he took a moment to breathe out, “And if I did, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” He got up, immediately regretting that he did and grasping for the edge of the sofa. In the next second, he heard china being hastily placed on the table – and even the tiny chinks of that made his head almost exploded – before two hands steadied him.

“Just sit there. You should know you are the worse after getting drunk,” Hyukjae muttered, settling next to him.

Donghae leaned against the back of the sofa, yet, he could not relax his posture one bit, staying ramrod straight while his squinting eyes followed Hyukjae’s hands as the other grabbed for the bowl he had apparently brought along with him, something Donghae had missed.

Hyukjae spoke, soft – almost as if he still cared for this bastard who had hurt him, “You did not break into the house. I brought you in.”

Donghae wanted to ask when, how, why did Hyukjae did such a thing. Then, his mouth went dry and he coughed, his throat felt burnt. A glass was pushed into his hands and led to his mouth. He chugged down the cool water, grateful for it as it soothed down the heat. Only the one down his throat, though. The rest of his face begun to heat up as soon as he gained back a semblance of clarity, “Thank you,” he mumbled, blinking rapidly as he averted his eyes away, hands gripping the glass as an anchor.

It felt wrong, letting Hyukjae took care of him. Where was the rage, the hurt? The betrayed look on his face? What could possibly dissipate all that after a week or two? His eyes widened as a line of light broke through the haze in his head.

“I… I said something last night, didn’t I?” he chanced a glance at Hyukjae and what he saw made him felt gutted and elated simultaneously. There was no hate, but the warmth those eyes that was purely Hyukjae had decreased in multitude as well.

Hyukjae shrugged, “You did. Of course you did, you always talk some honesty whenever you get yourself drunk.”

Ouch! He deserved that jab, he deserved even worse.

Clearing his suddenly tight windpipe, Donghae dropped his gaze to the glass of water in his hands, “Sorry. If I said or… did anything that… I’m sorry. I’ll go now. Thank you,” he rushed the last bit out, and attempted to get on his feet again, yet, a hand on his lap caused him to be rigid.

“Stay. We need to talk.”

Donghae wanted to laugh because even that sentence had been a constant in his life recently. Before it was said with a positive note, more specifically the time they kissed. Now though, he finally could feel the gloominess those words bring, the infamous words of a break up. This was the worse he meant.

Despite the wreckage in his chest at the thought, Donghae nodded, regretting as it brought a wash of nausea to him, “Sure, let’s talk.” He could not stop blinking, biting his inner cheek, preparing himself for what he truly deserved. He should have gotten himself ready since Hyukjae started remembering, even before that. He should have known it would not last. He should… yet he could not.

“Not now, maybe not today,” Hyukjae countered, “Not until all the alcohol has been flushed out of you. So, eat some of the soup if not all and then take the aspirin, after that rest.”

“But, that may take a couple days. I can’t –”

“You can. Just stay here. We’ll decide if you can or cannot after the talk.”

Then, Hyukjae left him. He sat there all alone in a state of daze, not knowing what it meant, the fact that Hyukjae willingly let him stay after asking him to leave vehemently. Then, there was also the case of him not knowing what had happened the night before, what he had said, what had he done, what more damage had he caused.

Donghae could not help but felt that not telling him right away was a way of revenge. And it occurred to him, the irony. He had not told Hyukjae the truth when his husband – he would call him that until the last moment he could – had lost his memory. He kept those vital memories to himself. Now, this was what he deserved and Hyukjae had all the right to withhold that information for a bit longer from him. Donghae deserved that. Thus, he took the aspirin, drank more water, finished half of the soup and burrowed under the cover he had not realized he was wrapped in earlier.

It was hours when he rose again, judging by the lack of light from the glass door behind him. First thought; Hyukjae was not home. His head hurt fairly less but there was still some ache that remained. He threw the cover off him, feeling hot and famished even with the headache still brewing. Sitting up, he twisted his neck and rubbed the stiffness away. Only then did he hear the fluttering of a paper coming from the tea table in front of him.

‘Dinner is in the fridge. Heat it up for 12 minutes in the microwave.’

After nearly two weeks, a grinned split Donghae’s lips, a genuine sign of laughter graced his features while his heart crumpled up because this was too good and he did not deserved it, Donghae did not have the right to get this normalcy back, this kindness Hyukjae had given since the start of the marriage. This was gratifying in a sense of a torture. Hyukjae was not kind; he was downright cruel, taunting him like this. And Donghae deserved every bit of it.

He washed up, got himself a clean set of clothes from the room upstairs – he could delude himself that he still live here because Hyukjae had not thrown away his clothes, or maybe he did not because he could not stand to even come close to whatever belonged to Donghae. He ate at the table, the food heated up just nice for him to devour. He wanted to take his time, to savour every flavour that his taste buds could capture because he did not know if he could ever have such good things again. The loneliness crept in half way, though, the silent of the house, just like those nights before. He could not finish the food no matter how much he tried to force it. He cleaned up after himself and went back to the sofa, wrapping the cover around himself – more to keep the solitary feels away than the cold.

Donghae was deep into a dreamless sleep by midnight, missing the light caressed of hand against his hair.

Remarkably, Donghae was all better by next morning. He woke up fresh with no sign of ache anywhere in his body. It made him feel relieved but a shiver ran down his spine. They were going to have the talk, then.

They had simple breakfast which was a good thing because, despite having no more nausea, Donghae did not think for one moment that he could keep something heavy down with how jittery he felt. Hyukjae contrasted him, looking as calm as ever. He had nodded at Donghae and invited him for breakfast with a quick point toward the dining room.

It was odd going back to the living room and sitting next to each other, because Donghae expected a sense of disengaged between them, something that would make him squirm, a cloak of cold distance. But what he got was sheer tranquillity. There was still the unpleasant feeling in his stomach and he could not stop blinking every few minutes, but the cool calmness radiating was consoling.

“You talked about your brother while you were drunk.”

All sense of calm drained away when Donghae heard what Hyukjae said, his mind assaulted with the memory of that night. The colour left his face and a shaky breath left him. He opened his mouth a few times but no words came out, only breathy whispers. He never talked about his brother. He never mentioned it for more than a decade. His lips trembled while he shook his head, gulping.

“W-Why?”

A hand grasped his violently shaking one, gripping it hard to ground him, “You wanted to tell me why you take refuge in drinking. You said I didn’t get it so you told me,” another hand came to rest on his knee, “Donghae, I get it. It was hard for you to say anything about your brother. But I am grateful you did. And deep down, I have a feeling you’re glad you did too.”

The mist in front of his eyes cleared and Donghae looked at Hyukjae, really stared at him, and he saw nothing but warmth, understanding and acceptance. No pity, which was the least Donghae wanted. Trying to level his breathing, Donghae thought about it. Someone knew, someone right in front of him finally knew of the turmoil that had stuck to him for a very long time and this someone did not judge him, did not back away, because this someone was Hyukjae, his husband, the best thing that could have happened to him. He got to share his pain, albeit without his full consent, with someone who was kind enough to support him and care for him after knowing that he was a basket case.

“Donghae?”

He blinked once and answered the unvoiced question, “I’m okay.” He hoped Hyukjae could see that he meant so much more than just ‘okay’. That Donghae was grateful, glad, elated and just plain thankful for having Hyukjae right there, even for only that moment.

It seemed like Hyukjae did get it as he smiled slightly and nodded, “Good. Then, can we continue?”

“Sure,” Donghae said, clearing his throat. The hands moved away then and Donghae missed them already. He rubbed his hands together, gathering any warmth he could as he recalled the rest of what he had blurted in his drunkenness. The last part of his coherent babble, the part where he practically said Hyukjae stopped his bad thoughts and decisions.

“When did you know it was me?” asked Hyukjae.

His heart no longer palpitating so harshly, Donghae said, “Just recently. A month ago, I think. I was getting your car from the police station. They gave the things you kept in the dashboard back in a box and I opened it.”

Crossing his legs, Hyukjae leaned back against the sofa’s arm, “You saw the drawing.”

“I saw the drawing.” Donghae waited for the rest of the connection to be made. Somehow, all nervousness left him. Whatever it was their relationship would be by the end of this, he did not think he would be disappointed as long as this more-than-a-decade relation they had between would not fade away so simply. He knew he would not forget Hyukjae. How could he when Hyukjae was the reason he kept going? If he could just appreciate Hyukjae from a far, could keep his husband safe without actively being present in his life, it would be enough, especially if that was what he deserved.

Hyukjae straightened slight but still seemed laid back, “So you know about L.D.H. because I inadvertently told you. You know that… I love you ever since.” It was not a question but Donghae nodded. “Not once did you mention anything,” there was hardness in the last bit, a little sense of betrayed sipping in.

“I did not want you to have any regret if we end up splitting. I didn’t want you to waste the words on something you would regret.”

“But, you said it.”

For the first time, Donghae looked into Hyukjae eyes with full intent, “Because I know I won’t regret saying it… to you.”

A moment passed, silence all through it. The only things speaking were their eyes. Donghae was not even sure whether he was breathing properly as the seconds ticked by. When Hyukjae blinked away, a childish feeling in him he thought he long lost made him felt a little victorious – the influence of I’m nineteen Hyukjae, he supposed.

“I still can’t forget what you did,” Hyukjae confessed, but he seemed disheartened, burdened.

Donghae did not like the look on him. It was his right to not forgive Donghae easily, it was the right thing to do. Donghae did not believe he was worthy of forgiveness this soon or maybe ever. What he did was unforgivable. He told Hyukjae as much.

“But I want to. Not forget, but forgive,” Hyukjae took a moment to sigh before training his eyes dead on Donghae’s, “I love you and I want you.”

Donghae bit the inside of his cheek to the decrease the intensity of his smile, he was wary whether he managed to do it or not, “Then you have me, always.”

None of them could be sure who surged forward first, maybe they both did and they met halfway. They fit each other snuggly, with Donghae’s arms around Hyukjae’s waist, Hyukjae’s hand gripping the back of his neck and the other on his waist, and their lips locked before they both slowly shut his eyes, appreciating the moment. There was a lot that Donghae needed to work for, a lot for him to give and he could do it with less sense of guilt and more out of love. There were broken pieces but they fit together as a home, and no home was perfect without having some jagged pieces put back together.

The kiss went on, getting heated up as time passed by and at one point Donghae had laid back, their lips not separating for more than needed. A breathy moan left either of them, or maybe both, and they seek for the friction that caused it again. One of Hyukjae’s legs was between Donghae’s and there was no way for them to not realize how hard they were. Hyukjae latched on to his neck with his mouth, one hand gripping the back of the couch, while Donghae threw his head back while his hand rubbed down Hyukjae’s back, feeling everything before slipping his hand underneath the shirt Hyukjae wore. The skin beneath was hot and as they rubbed against one another, sweat kept tingling their skin, their face flushed. The moans and groans became throatier, and Hyukjae’s lips captured his again, swallowing any more sound until Donghae’s vision turned white with ecstasy and he groaned out loud while Hyukjae hid his face against Donghae’s neck, biting down slightly. Their chests heaved as the bliss came down gradually. Donghae recovered first and the nudged Hyukjae’s face, turning sideways so he could look at his husband’s face. He decided he liked the look of pure satisfaction albeit tinged with exhaustion on Hyukjae.

Hyukjae met his eyes, splitting a little smile for him and Donghae could not stop himself from kissing the very red lips.

The heard a squelch coming from their lower regions and Hyukjae whined, “Ugh. My white sofa.” Donghae chuckled, kissing Hyukjae’s forehead. He could live like this.

Hyukjae was a little late for work as they overslept on the sofa, even with their sticky pants on. They rushed to get ready, Donghae cleaning the seat while Hyukjae cooked dinner first, and then Donghae sent him. The kiss Hyukjae gave him was the added bonus. What Donghae liked the most was the reminder that tomorrow was Tuesday and they would have the whole day to themselves.

The night felt great, the next day they were in seventh heaven and so was the morning of 13^th April. Time was both too long and too short. Not once was there a moment that was filled by anything else except euphoria. No moment to waste, they still thought, even when they felt they had eternity.

Donghae remembered that in a day, another monthsary was coming. Thus, excited, he told Hyukjae he was going out for a moment and he would be back to send him to the restaurant. None of them thought that they were losing time, that time was slipping away. They thought they had forever, they wished.

***

It was nearing 5 p.m. and Donghae was an hour late to send Hyukjae. He called and there was no answer. He tried the gallery and a woman said Donghae had no came in for a few days. Hyukjae’s annoyance had quickly turned into worries. When Myungsoo called, Hyukjae made the choice to go by his own, praying nothing had happened, trying to assure his own heart. He grabbed his car keys, locked the door and left a note on it for Donghae.

As soon as he got into his car, Hyukjae’s eyes widened and he felt nauseous, immediately stepping out, some of his lunch coming back up. He dry heaved, throat clogged up as he was assaulted with a memory, a face, and he crumbled to the ground with a hand on top of his chest. He was struggling to get a proper breath.

He knew who had tried to kill him. He knew-

His phone rang, jolting him. Dread coursed through his spine. His phone was on the driver’s seat, just like that time when he was trapped in the car and Hyukjae trembled. The only reason he reached out was because the caller id said it was Donghae.

“Hae, Donghae. I –”

“Hyukjae!” an ear-splitting scream cut him off before a muffled wail continued it.

“Hello, Lee Hyukjae. Remember me?”

Hyukjae felt as if his soul was being pulled out of his being, it might as well have as he heard a resounding hit and the muffled voice was gone.

Well hello there, my dear. I missed writing so much and I missed hearing from all of you. Well, the waiting is over and I made a comeback with a nice dose of romance and angst. I hope my writing style doesn't change much if it does. We are a step into the of the story. I can't tell you whether the next chapter will be the last one or not because i am unsure about that. We shall see, I guess. Now, can I ask a favor? Can you leave a comment? Please... Cookies and I have boxes of tissue ready!